


Ignorance

by BloodyAbattoir



Series: Your Reality Is A Nightmare [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cutting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: They wanted you to think that they were stupider than they really were.





	Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValentineRevenge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/gifts).



They want you to think they're stupid. It's all part of their strategy. Their strategy? To give you so much rope that you hang yourself with it. They know all about the single razor that you hid in the bottom of a drawer. And yet, they never said anything and they never took it away from you. 

 

You thought that they didn't know about, despite the fact that it was the stupidest hiding place of life. After all, you rationalized, if they knew about it, they would have at least said something to you about it. 

 

Theoretically speaking, you could've gotten rid of that one blade, and you would've been fine, but you began to scratch and rip at your body, and you thought they'd never catch on. You played your jeans and long sleeves and heavy scarves off as being cold, being a fashion statement, being anything but an attempt to hide something. 

 

They said nothing to you about this, either. They rarely inquired, and even when they did, they seemed satisfied with your weak and overused claims of the cat having done it, having brushed against a branch while running. Emboldened by this, your thin, light scratches slowly began to turn into gouges. 

 

This would lead to your needing copious amounts of medical supplies - gauze, plasters, micro-pore tape, the lot of it. At first, you started smuggling bits and pieces out of the medicine cabinet. A stray band-aid or three, a steri strip, nothing too large. Nothing too noticeable. Soon, however, you started running out of excuses, and supplies in the bathroom. 

 

They never commented on it. 

 

The more that you think about it, there were thousands of things they could've commented on. Your frequent trips to the chemist, the large amounts of band-aids in your trash bin, the way that you winced and pulled away when something brushed against you, your constant anemia. Yet, they never did. They let you think that they were stupid, and the worst part was, you believed them. 

 

You were given so much rope, you got away with so much, that it was impossible not to hang yourself, and hang yourself you did. 

 

You'd grown bolder and bolder as the years went past, until now, you sat on the sidewalk, ripping your arms open. You were drunk, something else they never mentioned, and gods alone only knew what pills you'd taken. It was not until you were tackled to the ground, your knife flying out with a clatter, that you realized just how smart they really were. Why catch you on something small in the beginning, when you'd have a chance to change, adapt, become sneakier, when they could just wait until you were comfortable in your routines and in over your head to spring their trap?


End file.
